


Go to Sleep

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [66]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Gen, Holo Squad, Hurt/Comfort, La Sirena doesn't like it when her captain doesn't feel well, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rios doesn't take very good care of himself, Worried holos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Cristóbal Rios has an awful habit of not taking care of himself and not letting anyone help him. Luckily for him, his ship is as stubborn as he is.
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Go to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> this kicked my ass so much why the FUCK can't I figure out how to write these bastards
> 
> this is my apology if everything is SUPER OOC
> 
> also sorry if the spanish is wrong??? i only know a little so if it's wrong or you think something would be better let me know and i'll fix it!!!

Fandom: Star Trek

Prompt: “You don’t have to deal with everything alone.”

* * *

His girl isn’t happy with him.

Rios sighs, leaning forward in the captain’s chair and scrubbing a hand over his face. _La Sirena_ isn’t moving like she usually does. To anyone else, she’s plugging along like always, engines humming, holos up and running, dutifully performing. But to Rios, he can feel her doing it with an air of resentment. She’s humming off-key.

“Come on,” he mutters, patting one arm of the chair, “don’t be upset.”

Her hum doesn’t shift.

“She’s right, you know,” comes that _fucking_ British accent from behind him. Rios groans, turning around to see the EMH rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You don’t have to deal with everything alone.”

“Deactivate EMH,” Rios grunts, turning back around. He blinks. It’s standing right in front of him. “I said _deactivate,_ you fucking prick.”

“Can’t,” the fucker shrugs, still rocking back and forth, “protocol keeps popping up.”

“Captain’s Override, Rios Delta 7.”

He cocks his head to the side and _shrugs_ again. “Nope. Sorry.”

“Then stay the fuck away from me,” Rios snarls, pushing himself to his feet and tromping downstairs. He almost walks _into_ the goddamn medbay before realizing what he’s doing and swerving away at the last second. He’s not gonna barricade himself in his quarters. This is _his_ goddamn ship. He’s not gonna let a hologram bully his way around.

“So it didn’t work?”

“No, Enoch,” Emil sighs, looking at the other hologram appearing at the navigation console, “of course it didn’t.”

Enoch taps on the console, giving the side panel a gentle pat. “He doesn’t like it when she’s angry.”

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.” Emil leans against the captain’s chair.

“Where are the others?”

Emil snorts. “You think they’ll have better luck?”

“I think Ian and Emmet might.”

“I’m not going near him,” Mr. Hospitality stage-whispers, appearing from one of the side corridors, “I’ll just make things worse.”

“Is everyone else awake?”

Mr. Hospitality nods. “Ian’s down in her belly, working away on…something. I don’t know where Emmet is.”

The background hum changes pitch ever so slightly. They all look up.

“He’s getting worse,” Enoch mutters, twisting his hands together in his lap, “she’s worried.”

“We could call someone,” Emil suggests, “if he won’t talk to us, he might talk to them.”

Mr. Hospitality scoffs. “You think he’d let us get away with that?”

“I think he’d let _some_ of us get away with that.”

Rios, blissfully unaware of the rest of his emergency holos are conspiring against him. Instead, he starts running his hands carefully over _La Sirena’s_ panels, checking to see if he’s missed something that’s causing his girl pain.

“I cannae find anything,” comes the voice from underneath one of the storage compartments, “I think she’s just in a mood.”

“Well, she’s not the only one,” Rios mutters as Ian slides out. “Did you check the—“

“Aye.” Ian pulls his hat down a little further. “An’ the—“

“ _Mierda.”_ Rios scrubs his hand over his face. “Probability of successful landing?”

“We aren’t in any danger,” Ian says, “I think she’s just a tad upset. Killin’ us won’t do her any good.”

“Well, isn’t that a relief.” Rios runs his hand over _La Sirena’s_ side again. “ _Hablame, señorita…”_

Ian’s gone, even though Rios isn’t enough of a fool to believe he’s been deactivated. Ian knows better than the rest of them how to piss off. They work well together, meaning they know enough about how to _not_ get in the way. Rios never complains about the state of his girl. Ian knows how to work like a well-oiled machine.

But she’s still whining.

“ _¿Que pasaste, hija?”_ Rios keeps making his slow rounds of the ship’s base, forcing himself to focus on what’s the matter with _La Sirena._

“He’s focused on her,” Ian mutters to the rest of them when he slips away from Rios, “thinks he can find a circuit out o’ place an’ fix her up.”

“His stress levels are going down,” Emil mutters, “but when he doesn’t find anything he’s just going to work himself back up again.”

“Maybe we all have to talk to him,” Enoch muses, “or we could do the thing where we wait.”

Emil huffs. “If we do that a few more times we might not have a Captain anymore.”

“We will,” Mr. Hospitality insists, “we will. But the ship will be angry.”

“She’s already angry,” Ian points out, “she’s only going to get angrier if we can’t figure out what to do.”

“Where’s Emmet?”

Rios opens the door to the cargo bay and pauses, seeing Emmet slouched against the wall, idly flipping a shard of tritanium between his fingers.

_“¿Por qué estás aquí?”_

Emmet jerks a thumb toward the ceiling. _“Está enojada.”_

_“¿Sabés por qué?”_

Emmet just gives him a look. Rios sighs. Yeah, yeah, he knows why too.

Emmet kicks an empty crate toward him. It slides across the floor under Rios stops it, taking a seat and staring at the ETH, now back to flipping the metal in his fingers again. He knows what Emmet’s presence means.

“The rest of them are upstairs,” he says, “aren’t they?”

Emmet grunts, not looking away from his fingers.

“ _Vais a organizar una intervención otra vez.”_

Emmet hums, shaking his head and sliding the metal over to him. Rios picks it up, turning it over in his fingers. He frowns. It’s the same shard of metal he had sticking out of him when Picard first showed up. Why the hell hadn’t that fucking EMH gotten rid of it?

Emmet stands up, groaning, stretching his arms over his head before nodding to Rios and making his way out of the cargo bay, his boots thumping on the floor.

“Did he take it,” Emil asks eagerly as he walks up the stairs to the bridge, “did he recognize it?”

Emmet nods, waving a hand lazily and collapsing into his chair. Mr. Hospitality nods to himself, tapping a few things on his tablet.

“Environmental controls are all set,” he announces, tucking the tablet back to his chest, “no one’s getting overstimulated today.”

“His stress levels are stabilizing,” Emil says, “I think it worked.”

“What was it s’pposed ta do?”

“Help him remember we’re still here for him,” Emil says, glancing around at the other holograms, “even if he doesn’t want us.”

“What makes you think I don’t want you?”

They all jump; even Emmet, who grunts at having his sleep disturbed. Rios stands at the entrance to the bridge, still cupping the shard of tritanium in his hand.

“I—um—we—“

Ian puts a hand on Emil’s shoulder. “Yeh don’ exactly like ta see us.”

“You’re emergency holograms, your presence means there’s an emergency,” Rios says, gesturing between them with the metal, “pardon me if I like to _avoid_ emergencies.”

“It’s not just that and you know it,” Emil mutters, “but we’re not having this argument again.”

“Aren’t we?” Rios steps forward, spreading his arms. “You don’t do this, _this.”_

He glares at Emmet who just shrugs. Then he spots Mr. Hospitality trying to hide behind Ian.

Rios curses. There’s only _one_ goddamn reason why that _hijo de puta_ would be going out of his way to hide from him.

It’s Enoch—of fucking _course_ it’s Enoch—who stands up out of the navigator’s chair and comes to stand in front of him. The hum in the background changes pitch again.

“You know why she’s angry,” Enoch says quietly, “and you know why we’re here.”

“Really don’t.”

“You programmed it into us,” Enoch says, despite Rios violently shaking his head, “you _did._ And you’ve never uninstalled any of us, no matter how much you say we piss you off.”

“An’ there’s a reason yeh don’ like ta travel with a real crew,” Ian adds, “an’ it’s the same reason yeh gave all of us your face.”

‘What the hell do you want,” Rios spits out.

“Why don’t you go an’ lie down,” Enoch suggests, “just for a little bit?”

“The hell’s that gonna do?”

A sharp whine makes them all wince. Emmet glares at Mr. Hospitality who just shakes his head.

“Wasn’t me!”

“Our lassie’s upset,” Ian says, “an’ she’s gettin’ worse.”

“Did you sabotage my ship, you goddamn—“

“No,” Ian says firmly, “I’d never do that.”

“She’s got a mind of her own,” Emil says, “you’ve told everyone that. Don’t start ignoring it now.”

Rios pinches the bridge of his nose. He pulls his hand away like he’s been stung. What the—why can’t he stand?

Two pairs of hands catch him, pulling him into the captain’s chair. Distantly, he hears Emil calling for a medical kit. There’s a ringing in his head, his ears, in his _chest,_ what the fuck is happening?

“Do something,” he hears someone hiss.

A moment later, the lights dim and everything fades away, the only solid things the chair underneath him and the hands keeping him mostly upright. There’s a soft whine from the tricorder and a faint buzz from…something else. A hypospray hisses into his neck.

“Please,” he hears Enoch—or is it Emil? It’s someone—plead into his ear, “just…go get some sleep?”

Fuck it.

Rios tries to stand only to be barely able to move a muscle. Emmet, it’s Emmet at his side, who slings one of his arms over his shoulders as Enoch helps them to bed. Emmet leaves with a promise of keeping an eye on things. Enoch lingers a moment longer, pouring him a glass of water.

“…don’t tell me,” Rios manages, “don’t tell me you’re turning into that EHH.”

“I’m not.” Enoch hesitates, then reaches out with a finger.

“What’re you…”

It lands on Rios’ forehead, dragging gently down the bridge of his nose. Cheap move. He told him about that when he was drunk, that’s just playing dirty.

_La Sirena_ hums contentedly as her captain falls asleep, the EHs manning the bridge in his absence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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